


Snake Charmer

by Worldsgreatestnerd



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, This Is STUPID, Yes the title is a gay joke but don’t worry, anyway i love this, like rlly stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worldsgreatestnerd/pseuds/Worldsgreatestnerd
Summary: Elsa put her withered, but soft hand on his back, pushing him forward.He looked back at her, weary and confused, his heart in his throat. His skin was sticky with the Florida humidity and his body fatigued. He was in too large of clothes, taken from the hospital lost and found bin.“Little snake,”she said,“show them.”Pasha bit his lip, eyes flicking back and forth before stepping forward even more to avoid madam Mars.He sighed as he floated his left leg gracefully up- up- up into the air until it resided by his head. To this he began to bend backwards, his hands catching him as he stood upon his hands, walking backwards with his legs still split.(Or a completely not canon story with a Russian contortionist and extra gay drama because why can’t Ryan Murphy write gay people like normal human beings)
Relationships: Jimmy Darling/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Snake Charmer

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! Hope you guys like this whole mess. I’m just scrambling to write before I have to go back to college lmao.

Pasha was tucked under the arm of Elsa Mars. Her grandiose presence was shelter enough for him as he made his way through the camp leading up to the freakshow. 

He had only seen one as a child, it passed through the larger village next to his, who would’ve thought he’d be in one. 

He eyed the large banners with tapestries of performers. He stared at the foreign, English letters that meant absolute gibberish to him. He figured this is how these people would feel seeing one of the posters for his ballets in Cyrillic. 

Elsa lead him to a tent full of people, and most of all. Food. 

Pasha hadn’t seen that much food in so long, only when he was invited to Deputy dinners to discuss further the importance of the Bolshoi and its academy. 

_“Watch now, my little snake.”_ Elsa whispered. 

The woman was German, on the right side of the wall, but she spoke enough Russian to get by, enough to communicate clearly to Pasha. 

She cleared her throat and began speaking. The eyes of all the people turned to her. She was a very strong, very important leader. 

What she said? Pasha did not know. Pasha knew exactly four phrases in English. 

“Hello” “Good Job” “Bad Job” and “Beautiful.” 

“Beautiful” was an important one. He knew that in America, it was ‘beautiful.’ And so far it was. 

It was more green than he’d ever seen, more sun and warmth than he ever thought possible. He knew he was supposed to be dying in this heat, but his blood felt alive. 

His eyes scanned the tables full of people. His eyes rested on a man covered in tattoos, something he’d never seen in Russia. Then there was a bearded woman, he had seen that, Babushkas could hairy. A small, small, small little woman who stood upon the table. Then, a young man with short, curly red hair. 

What of him? 

Was he an accessory? A trainer? He didn’t look like anything special. 

Well, neither did Pasha. 

Pasha’s eyes stayed on him, trying to figure out what he was there for. 

Then the young man starting talking, he looked upset. He raised his hand, his large, fused hand at him and pointed with narrowed eyes. 

Pasha’s already wide, doll like eyes, opened even further in understanding. Why were they all angry? Pasha has seen enough anger to know it transcended any language. 

Elsa put her withered, but soft hand on his back, pushing him forward. 

He looked back at her, weary and confused, his heart in his throat. His skin was sticky with the Florida humidity and his body fatigued. He was in too large of clothes, taken from the hospital lost and found bin. 

_“Little snake,”_ she said, _“show them.”_

Pasha bit his lip, eyes flicking back and forth before stepping forward even more to avoid madam Mars. 

He sighed as he floated his left leg gracefully up- up- up into the air until it resided by his head. To this he began to bend backwards, his hands catching him as he stood upon his hands, walking backwards with his legs still split. 

He rolled into his stomach, his legs meeting in the air behind him, almost as if he was standing on his chin. 

It hurt in the green grass, not like the smooth, wooden stage and studio floors he practiced on. Still, his legs dangled over his shoulders before his feet landed beside his head, completely bent in half. 

He took a breath, he knew it was always good to breathe through all the poses. 

It just came to him naturally. His body flowed as he told it to, there was nothing out of his control when it came to his body. Every last muscle and urge was controlled and willed into perfect form and posture and poise. 

Well, he could control almost everything. 

He could hear their murmuring. So he pressed himself onto his hands again and began to walk like that, folded over himself until a stray foot swiped his right hand out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. 

Pasha laid there for a moment, stunned at what had just happened. 

He looked up to see a man with short, small arms laughing at him. Why would he do such a thing? Did they not understand what he was doing? 

He didn’t want to believe that the Americans were as savage as they told him, but maybe… maybe it was true. 

Then, as he was taught. He unfolded in that twist, and continued to the next one, making sure not to step near the man kicked him again. 

He could see almost all of them, if he tilted his head just right, how they all had risen from their seats to see if he was worth watching. 

He moved into his most difficult pose. The triple fold. 

Contortion was a secondary gift, often used for light, comical ballets. He still excelled nonetheless, but here? It seemed subpar to them. 

As he folded over himself, he took a deep breath, watching the gaze of Elsa pass over him as he rolled gently. 

He took his posture and sighed, looking up over the crowd. 

He knew why she gave him his name. “Little snake.” She said with such a coo, from when he first showed her what he could do. 

He knew the symbolism of the snake, how vile and cunning it was supposed to be. But the snake was nothing more than an elegant creature, perfect in its movement and its intuition.  
His movements were as strong and as fluid as the snake, so how could he refuse her name for him? 

Pasha paused when he heard a word he recognized. 

“Good”

He sighed in relief at that before a familiar, old hand rested on his leg and there was the phrase he knew. 

“Good job.” Elsa said. 

She knew he knew that one. 

He unfolded himself on the grass, with just as much ease and grace as he did to put himself into the position. 

He scrambled to his feet, rubbing the grass off of his chin and clothes. 

The people clapped, not all of them, some of them not even fully, but enough of them did. 

_“You’re in.”_ Elsa said, reaching into her purse to get a cigarette. _“Go on, introduce yourself.”_

“H-Hello…” he trailed, before putting a hand to his chest, he didn’t know how to introduce himself beyond “Hello.” 

He must’ve looked like such an idiot. If only Sir Bykov could see him now, muddy and bumbling, scared and stupid. He would’ve said Pasha was being five again. 

Pasha was not five. 

Pasha had danced in front of thousands, in front of chairmen, deputies, and ministers. 

“Hello…” he repeated, putting his hand to his chest. “Pasha.” 

They all stared at him for a moment. Then most of them sat, the few that clapped before clapped again. 

Elsa said something else, he caught the word “Russian” of course, but after she spoke she left swiftly and without a goodbye to him. 

He stood there on the grass, his chin almost rug burnt from his fall. The lights felt warm on his pale skin as they buzzed, everyone else had gone back to their business. 

So Pasha stared down the table and into the clearing beyond.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya!! 
> 
> First off:  
> AHS hire me. 
> 
> Secondly, anything in italics is Russian, as Pasha is Russian and does not currently speak English. 
> 
> Kudos and comments make my whole week! 
> 
> Tumblr: trixies-allstar-crown


End file.
